


Once In A Lifetime

by uglowian



Category: Bandom, MCR - Fandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crack, Id Fic, Other, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglowian/pseuds/uglowian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey Way meets Mikey Way. It's weirder than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once In A Lifetime

"So uh." He doesn't know what to say.

For that matter, he doesn't know where to look. He settles for staring at the tree, just outside the window of this room he doesn't recognize. It's drizzling out, and the afternoon light is diffuse and hazy. The tree looks soft around the edges. Flat and devoid of shadow.

He studies the way the rain makes rivulets on the glass.

A distant ringing sound hums at the edges of his hearing.

"So," he tries again.

And this time, the guy--well--no--he's not--shit. Whatever it is. That other person--speaks:

"So."

"This is. Weird."

"Yeah."

Heat prickles over the back of his neck. He has the sense that he's being looked at. Stared at. His brows draw together and he tries to find a pattern in the way the bare tree branches break off from each other.

"How'd you get here?" he asks.

"I woke up. And. Yeah."

"Oh."

Silence.

He swallows. "Me too."

The taptaptap of footsteps across the linoleum floor. And now he looks. Eyes wide. Chest seizing up. A stumble back--but it's too late. Fingers, his fingers, touch the side of his face and he freezes.

The hand is warm. Definitely alive.

Not a ghost or a robot or anything.

Fuck.

"What's your name?"

It takes him a minute. A minute to comprehend. Another, to process: this person is asking him a question. And then, he laughs. Short and sharp and a little hysterical. He feels kind of dizzy.

"What's your name?"

The guy laughs too and. Okay. That's weird. He stares at him--at this. Whoever. Person. And the ludicrous thought consumes him: _Do I sound like that?_

Also: "You're touching me."

"Yeah. It's weird." A quirk of the mouth. "Like you said."

A thumb draws over the ridge of his cheekbone. He sucks in a breath.

"So. Does one of us have to die now?"

"Die? You mean like the doppelganger thing?"

"I guess."

"I don't think that's right."

He frowns. "We're like the same--"

"I think you're younger than me." That said in a rush. Like he--the. This guy. Like this guy doesn't want to hear the possible reality.

"Oh." He wets his bottom lip. "Too bad."

"What?"

"I kind of had a badass plan for what I'd do to my doppelganger."

The guy's mouth twitches again. His hand drops away. It's quiet except for the rhythmic patter of the rainfall outside.

After a moment, the guy says: "So you can't--y'know. Read my mind."

"Can you read mine?"

"Good point." The guy studies his face ( _his own fucking face_ , Jesus Christ) with an unwavering gaze. "You'd think we could though."

"Could what?"

"Read each others' minds. Or like. Implode when we touch. Or something." He frowns. "But see? Nothing."

That hand again. On his shoulder this time. The guy's hand. Or his hand--or their hand. He flinches away.

"Could you like. Not?"

A shrug. "Sorry."

More silence. He walks to the window to--do something. Not look. To get some distance. To breathe.

"So are you like…from the future?"

Behind him, his own voice answers: "Maybe? I don't know. Last time I checked, it was 2011."

He closes his eyes. "It's 2005. I was on a bus."

"So when and where are we now?"

"Good question." He rests his head against the glass. It's cold. He asks: "What happens in six years?"

"…A lot."

"Like what?"

"It's a surprise." Wry.

"…Fine." Then: "Gerard's still okay, right?"

"Yeah."

"And everyone else?"

"And everyone else."

"Okay."

He exhales, long and slow. Listens to the rain. When the guy's hand--his hand--flattens against his back, he doesn't jump or move away. He hears himself say:

"Hey. Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"Turn around?"

And he does. And he's hemmed in--up against the windowsill--by his own arms and his own torso. He looks to eyes that look just like his, only without glasses. A gaze that's focused and direct.

"This is creepy," he mumbles, because it is.

Because his face is flushing and what the actual fuck is that about.

"A little."

And a hand cups his jaw. For the second time, his breath catches. He lets the guy tilt his head from side to side. Lets those eyes examine him.

"I keep expecting you to disappear. Or for you to be cold. Or. My hands to go through you. Something." A frown. "But you're…here."

A thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.

Nervously, he mumbles, "This is like the weirdest come-on ever." Another brief, and shuddering laugh to punctuate it.

"Yeah well. I've never done it before."

He'd laugh, for real, if his stomach weren't so bunched up. Instead, he reaches for the guy's wrist (or his own wrist or whatever the fuck) and pulls his hand away from his face. And then:

A beat. A breath.

A thigh between his legs.

He pulls his self (or something like it) in. The kiss is cautious, at first. Mouths brushing and then--oh. A hand at the small of his back, pressing hips to hips. He gasps, or tries to, and the kiss deepens. He hears a noise, a groan, and he isn't sure if he groaned or if--

And now it's hands in hair and teeth on lips and he's hot, so hot, everywhere, he's certain the glass behind him might liquefy or shatter.

The guy breaks away first and they stand there, catching their breath. He watches him wipe his mouth on the back of his hand and the gesture looks nothing short of obscene. Which is ridiculous, because they only kissed.

But he's staring at the guy's flushed lips. Wondering what it says about him, that some other version of himself turns him on.

"You're okay?" the guy asks.

A slow nod. "Yeah."

A step closer. "Can I…?"

"Yeah."

He hisses at the feel of teeth against his neck. His eyes flutter and his head falls back, softly thunking against the glass. When the guy drops to his knees--fucking hell. His stomach bottoms out. The guy snickers.

"What?"

A smile. Fingers working his fly open. "Nothing. It's just--"

But oh, his jeans are open and shit, shit, shit the guy's just stroking his dick and grinning. He tells himself not to squirm.

"Just what?"

"Just weird." And the guy ducks his head down to take him in.

And godfuckingdammit it's like. Really good. Like, the whole thing. Which possibly means he's _really good at giving head_ but. Okay, he can't organize his thoughts enough to really consider that.

He comes with a shudder, sagging against the window sill when it's over. The guy gets to his feet and kisses him and it officially gets _way_ too meta when he tastes his own come on his own other mouth.

"Dude," he mumbles.

"Yeah?"

"Gerard is gonna be so jealous."

A snort. "What, that you got a blowjob from…yourself?"

"I'm not telling him that part, asshole. I just meant the whole crossing-some-line-in-the-time-space-continuum thing. He used to try to do that when we were kids. Like, astral projection or something."

Another laugh. "Yeah. I remember that."

The guy twists away. Slides to sit against the wall.

"Uh." He fumbles with his briefs and his jeans. "Anyway. What about you?"

"What about me?"

He sits beside the guy, his ears going hot. "You want me to…?"

The guy tips his head back and closes his eyes. Still smiling. "No, I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I don't always need reciprocation."

"Yeah, me eith--" He halts, narrowing his eyes. "Fuck you."

That earns him a kiss pressed affectionately to his shoulder. "Maybe later."


End file.
